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With an annoyed glare directed at Gremlin’s retreating back, Randi adjusts her jacket with frustrated tugs and pulls. I reach out and grip the metal door handle, pulling it open. A burst of dry heat singes up my nose and immediately dries out my throat. Fuck, it’s hot in there. Just the thought of stepping into that makes me regret volunteering. September in Texas is fucking hot already; why do they have the damn heat on?

“After you,” I say and sweep a hand between us. Sweat drips down my back from being sandwiched in the heat. She rolls her shoulders and shakes her hands like she’s flicking out the tension, then walks through the door.

The linoleum floor squeaks with every step we take inside. I scan the waiting area; an older woman glances up from behind an aged, ragged desk. I match Randi's steps, staying inches from her back.

“Christy,” Randi says, a full smile brightening her face.

The older woman, Christy apparently, smiles back. The white of her hair has a blue tint that matches the thick layer of eye shadow plastered across her eyelids. Deep wrinkles mark every inch of her face, giving her a kind, gentle look.

“Well, look who we have here. Randi Sawyer, look at you!” With a clap, the older woman slides off her stool and shuffles around the desk, both arms extended wide. Randi hesitates, muscles stiff before stepping into the woman’s grasp, accepting the predestined hug.

What was that about?I step closer, curiously monitoring their interaction.

“Yeah, a bit of a change, right?” Randi gives Christy’s shoulder an awkward pat and steps back, putting her at arm’s length. “Somedays I don't even recognize myself.” She shifts from one foot to the other, nibbling on the nail of her middle finger. “I'm somewhat pretty now.”

“Randi,” Christy admonishes. “You stop that right now. You've always been beautiful in the most important spot. Right here.” She presses her right hand over her heart. “Now everyone can see what I've always known, sweet girl.”

If I wasn't blatantly staring, I would've missed Randi's eyes flick to me before quickly going back to Christy.

“You know why I'm here?” Randi asks around the pinkie fingernail she's now nibbling on.

Christy's kind expression drops, the happy wrinkles falling and making her age instantly. “I do. Who's he?”

“Secret Service.”

“Boyfriend too?”

“Christy!” Randi groans and shakes her head. “Stop it. That would be inappropriate.”

“Why?” Christy blurts. I chuckle into the fist at my lips. “He has a sweet face.”

“Thank you.” I step forward, hand extended. “Trey Benson, Secret Service, ma'am. Pleased to meet you.”

I barely grasp her frail hand, afraid even a gentle squeeze will break bones.

“My, my, aren't you a charmer. Trouble, that's what you are,” she says with a wink.

“That's what I said,” Randi grumbles beside me.

“Don't let this one push you around, you hear?” Christy says, nodding toward the huffing Randi. “She's got a good soul, a good heart. Best thing to come out of this town, if you ask me. She don't deserve the life she was handed.”

I half turn to meet Randi's eyes, my brows raised in question, but they're too busy inspecting the blank, white wall to notice.

A puzzle indeed. All the pieces aren’t adding up. Only way to solve this is to ask the right questions.

“Is that so?” I tuck both hands behind my back, my lips pulling up in a wide smile to Christy. Hopefully a little charm will open her up. “Seems like a pretty great life to me. UT, Harvard, on her way to being vice president.”

Christy's eyes narrow. Shaking her head, she looks to Randi. “Cute but not that bright.”

“Agreed.”

“Hey now.” What the hell? This is not going as planned. I glance between the two women. “Don't gang up on me. Just an observation.”

“I'm worried for her safety if those are your observation skills, son.”

Well hell. Did I just get smack-talked by an eighty-year-old lady?

“Leave him alone,” Randi says, still smiling, clearly laughing at me. “You know why he doesn't know. It's why Mom's in holding instead of booked already.”